Safe Word
by brielle23
Summary: Harry decides to give submission a try, hoping it will add some interest to his mundane life. But when he chooses his mysterious master, will he allow himself to be dominated completely, or will fear make him utter the safe word? VERY MATURE, Slash, HP/DM
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Seeing that this is the first post of this story, I am going to be straight and to the point. I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money from this little venture...Zip, Zero, Zilch :) If only making money was that easy.**

**Warning: Hmm...where do I start? This story is going to have a lot of foul language, a lot of gay-boy action, as well as a lot of S&M vibes kicking. If any of those things aren't your bag, I suggest you go read some nice K+ fan fic and call it a day :)**

**A/N: Yay, new fic :) This will be a short one though--only about three chapters.**

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Harry glanced around the waiting room nervously, though he knew no one else was there. It was only him in the room, him and the obnoxious secretary that was tucked away out of earshot, in the reception area behind panes of sliding glass. He reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around the wand inside. Keeping it fully sheathed, he pointed it at the piece of white parchment he held in his other hand and whispered, "Reveal your secrets."

Nothing happened.

Of course, had he really expected anything to? It was only a simple muggle contract after all--a muggle contract _he _had requested. No one forced it in front of him; no one was trying to trick him into signing it. He had obtained it on his own free will, and the receptionist that had handed it to him obviously could care less about whether he signed it or not. He was in the muggle world after all, and there nobody cared what Harry Potter did.

Deciding he was being foolish, Harry read through the contract one last time and then signed it:

_James Black  
_

He blew on the wet ink for a moment and then quickly walked up to the front desk before he had time to regret his decision. The receptionist, a harsh woman with flaming red hair, slid the window open and snatched the parchment from his hands.

She looked it over a moment. "Have seat Mr. Black. Mariella will be with you shortly."

Harry sat back down, his knee bouncing nervously as he waited. The seconds ticked by slowly and Harry found himself ready to bolt out the door after only a couple of minutes. _Maybe it's not meant to be,_ he thought. But just as he stood up leave, a door opened and a pleasant looking woman with a head full of blonde curls walked out.

"James, I presume," she smiled as she extended her hand to Harry. He took it graciously, pleased to see a friendly face. "Come with me." She brought Harry into a small room, presumably her office, and gestured for him to have a seat. "Now I see you have signed our contract," she said warmly. "But I like to do a short interview with our clients before we work with them. You know, just to make sure they understand the terms."

"Absolutely," Harry replied as calmly as possible. He non-chalantly wiped his sweat covered palms on his jeans. "That's understandable."

"Great. Now first off, you understand you are now bound to not, under any circumstances, speak of your experiences here, right?"

Harry swallowed thickly, trying to push down the lump that was forming in his throat, and nodded.

"And you understand that once you have chosen a master, and they you, that they will remain your master for as long as you use our services."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but his tongue failed him, so again, he nodded.

"Good." Mariella scooted behind her desk and took a seat. Harry looked up at her, worry etched clearly across his face. "Almost done Mr.  
Black," Mariella soothed. "Now you also understand we operate under a safe-word policy, correct?"

"Yes," Harry breathed.

"You and your master will come up with an agreed safe-word that will in turn, be given to our guards. Our rooms are equipped with microphones and if at anytime you use the safe-word, a guard will immediately retrieve you. However, you must understand that if you choose to use the safe-word, your contract with us ends. You will no longer be able to use our services, so make sure if you use the safe-word, you don't plan on coming back here. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. It's unfortunate, but we have had some past experiences," Mariella said leaning across her desk. "Liability issues and all that....big mess...But anyway, I have one more question, Mr. Black. I'll be honest, it's and sort personal question, but we like to know the mindset of our clients before we officially take them on. Do you mind?"

"No," Harry replied hoarsely.

"_Why_ have you chosen to seek out our services, Mr. Black? I mean, you're obviously very handsome. You do not strike me as a sexual deviant or a bored husband, like our usual clientele--so why?"

Harry chewed on his bottom lip a moment and thought. Why was he there? He didn't really know. He certainly never considered himself a sexual deviant and he wasn't a bored husband. He wasn't a husband, period. Hell, he wasn't even anyone's boyfriend. So why was he there? He thought about it another moment before giving the most honest answer he could come up with.

"To feel."

"I see," Mariella said, clicking her tongue. "Well, shall we begin?"

She reached into a desk drawer and rummaged around a moment before pulling out a strange, white mask and handing it to Harry. He turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the wide cut-out over the mouth area and the tiny cut-outs where a nose would be. A shiver snaked up his spine, making him shudder. The mask had no eyes.

"Um, uh," Harry stammered. "Can I ask why the mask doesn't have eye cut-outs?"

"Oh of course. You see, you are not allowed to see your master unless they decide they want to be seen."

"Oh," Harry replied. He could feel the bile starting to churn in his stomach. Why was he here again?

"Alright James--If you could just stand up, I'll get this on you and we can get started."

Harry stood up, locking his knees so they didn't give out on him. Mariella grabbed the mask from him and placed it over his face, quickly fastening it in place with the leather straps and buckles that were attached to it. Then she grabbed his hand, locking her fingers with his, and pulled him out of the room.

They walked for several minutes. Harry could feel the air around him change. Mariella's office had been warm and comfortable, but wherever she was taking him was colder, damp. He swallowed hard, still trying to rid himself of the horrible lump that threatened to choke him.

"We're here." Harry heard a door open and Mariella led him inside a room. And although he couldn't see anything, he could sense that other people were there. "Okay, back up just a little," Mariella said.

Harry obeyed, backing up until his back connected with a vertical pole. Mariella let go of him and began fumbling with what sounded like heavy, metal chains. And just a moment later, Harry felt the chain wrapping around his waist and the pole behind him. "All set, Mr Black." Mariella said cheerily. "Have fun."

Harry heard the door shut and lock behind her. His heart began to beat erratically. Beads of sweat started to drip down his face, slickening the inside of his mask. Never in his nineteen years of life had he felt so helpless, so defenseless. Yet there he stood, open and vulnerable, and there on his own free will.

"Hello Mr. Black," a soft voice cooed. Shoes clacked loudly on the floor as the voice got closer to him. "I'm Mistress Alexia." The woman reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. She began kissing his palm lightly, her breath tickling him and making the hair on his arm stand on end.

"I think we could have a good time," she whispered seductively before taking Harry's index finger in her mouth. She slowly swirled her tongue around it and sucked on the warm digit, her lips gliding up and down it's entire length. And with one last, hard suck, she let go of his hand and walked away.

Harry heard someone else approach.

"I'm Master Anton," said a man with a deep, husky voice. And instead of saying anything else, the man reached back and slapped Harry's ass, his hand connecting with such force that Harry buckled from the pain.

"I'm Mistress Veronica," another woman started as she, too, made her way over to Harry. "Do you want to be my little bitch, James?" she whispered in his ear. "Do you?" She reached down and grabbed his hand, placing it on her naked breast. Harry could feel her nipple harden beneath his fingers.

"Mmm," she moaned softly as Harry began tracing circles over her taut peak with his thumb. "Tsk, tsk. We mustn't get greedy." She said after a moment; then she pulled his hand off and walked away.

"And I," another man said as he approached Harry. "_I_ am Master Riddle."

Harry cringed. Riddle? Out of all the names in the world, his potential master's name was Riddle? Common sense told him that although it _was_ a remarkable coincidence, that's all it was--a strange, stomach-twisting coincidence. But a small part of him began panicking anyway.

"Pleased to meet you James," the man whispered smoothly in Harry's ear. His voice was alluring and calming at the same, and Harry could feel his apprehension melt away as the man swathed him in silken words and warm breaths. The man leaned in closer, his lips flush with Harry's throat. "You need a little discipline, Mr. Black?" he murmured. "Because I can give it to you."

Harry shivered as the man's hand snaked slowly up the back of his neck, up to his messy locks. Then suddenly with no warning, the man grabbed a fistful of Harry's hair and yanked his head back, full exposing his throat. He gasped loudly with a mix of pain and pleasure as the man bit down on his neck, pulling flesh between his sharp teeth.

Harry's cock instantly became rock hard.

"I knew you would like that," Riddle whispered as his hand cupped the bulge in Harry's jeans. And with one last lick, the man let go and walked away.

"So who will it be James," Mistress Alexia asked.

Without hesitation Harry answered, "Master Riddle."

"Very well," she replied.

Harry's head buzzed with the sudden sounds of shuffling feet and clicking heels echoing throughout the cavernous room. But before he knew it, everything went silent, his ragged breathing the only audible sound. Harry stood there as still as possible, straining his ears to try to hear _something_--voices, someone else breathing--_anything_, but he couldn't make out a sound. And the more he stood there, the more deafening the silence became, and the more uneasy he felt as an eerie awareness that he was being watched crept over his body.

Harry began inwardly chastising himself for being so stupid. Of course he should be feeling skeeved out, he was in a skeevy place! What the hell was he thinking coming to somewhere so shady? He needed to get out of there...and fast.

"Hello?" he said timidly. "Is anyone there?" Harry listened carefully for some indication that someone else was present, but he heard nothing. "H-hello?"

"Did I say you could talk?" Riddle's voice growled. "You will only speak when spoken to, understand?"

Harry nodded dumbly. A mixture of fear and excitement coursed through his body, making him shiver. The tone in Riddle's voice was so dangerous, so authoritative, so...erotic. Perhaps he wouldn't leave quite yet.

"We have to agree upon a safe word," Riddle said. "I typically like to use the word 'magic'. Do you object to that?"

Harry swallowed. His stomach was lurching again at yet another strange coincidence, but he shook his head anyway.

"Good."

Harry heard Riddle approach and felt him as he unfastened the chain around Harry's waist. Once the chain was gone, the man fastened something around Harry's neck--some sort of leather choker.

"On your hands and knees," Riddle commanded. Harry obeyed, his hands connecting with the dirty, stone floor below him. "Now follow me," Riddle said as he yanked on a leash that was connected to Harry's new collar. Again, Harry did as he was told, crawling across the cold floor, tiny pebbles sticking in his palms as he put pressure on them. But he continued on and fought through the annoying pain, trying his best to keep up with Riddle's quick pace.

After a few moments, the floor beneath Harry suddenly changed, the hard, rough stones replaced by smooth, plush carpet.

"Stay," Riddle barked. The tension in the leash disappeared and Harry could hear the man rustling through heavy drawers. The unmistakable tinkling of metal filled his ears and Harry visualized the bizarre instruments Riddle could be lining up to use on him. Harry's mind thought back to some of the more gruesome muggle, horror movies he had seen, and realized he had walked directly into one. He pictured Riddle lining up scalpels and speculums and countless other torturous devices whose names he didn't know. Things that could hurt him or undoubtedly, kill him if used correctly.

But Harry tried to push that thought out of his head. It was ridiculous. He didn't get snatched out of some seedy, foreign hostel and taken to a run-down warehouse; he was in a building on a busy London street and he was there on his own free will. He _wanted_ to go there, so he should at least try to enjoy himself.

"Stand and disrobe," Riddle said calmly. Harry hesitated a moment too long, and just as he planted his foot on the ground to stand, there was a loud crack and a sharp pain shot through his lower back. It seared and stung and Harry could feel a burning sensation spreading it's fingers from his tail bone to his shoulders. "Let's try this again," Riddle purred. "Stand and disrobe."

"Yes sir," Harry replied. He stood and did as he was told, casting his clothes to floor.

"Very good James." Riddle walked slow circles around the room and Harry could feel his master's eyes examining every inch of his body. His skin flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement, and his previously flaccid cock began to stiffen in response to the new and unusual stimuli.

He had never before been hit in an arousing manner; he had never been ordered around like a useless slave; and he had never been scrutinized like a piece of meat at the grocery store. And truth be told, he was enjoying every second of it. He liked surrendering control for once, mindlessly following orders that someone else gave. Not once in his life had Harry had the luxury of being the follower; he was always expected to lead, lead, lead, and the reprieve felt amazing, no matter how short-lived it was.

"Now," Riddle said, tickling Harry's skin with what felt like a cat of nine tails. "Let's see how well you follow orders. Get down on your knees and then sit back on your feet. Good," he said as Harry followed his directions. "Now make fists with both of your hands and cross your wrists behind your back...Perfect James, this is what will be referred to as position one. Understand?" Harry nodded. "Good. Now stay on your knees and keep your hands behind your back, but crouch down so your face is just a few inches above the floor. This is position two."

This continued for over a half an hour, Riddle showing Harry a total of ten positions in all, everything from kneeling to standing to sitting to laying down. Then they proceeded to practice them, Riddle shouting out a position number and Harry quickly dropping to his knees or laying flat on his back.

"You're doing well James. If you'll get on your knees, I'll give you your reward for the day."

Harry readily obliged, eager to accept anything his master wanted to give him. His skin tingled and his groin tightened as he thought of the possiblities, but before his brain could settle on a potential gift, he had his answer.

Riddle laced his fingers through Harry's ebony locks and leaned into him, pressing his cock through the mouth opening in the mask and against Harry's lips. "Open up James," Riddle ordered. And the moment Harry's lips parted, Riddle shoved his cock inside, so hard and so deep that he bottomed out. But he didn't allow that to trip him up, and instead, immediately began thrusting with as much force as his first instrusion, abusing Harry's throat with his rock-hard dick.

Harry choked and gagged and his eyes began to water from not being able to breath. Saliva dribbled down his chin and the lack of oxygen made his head start to spin. He thought for sure he was about to pass out, so he tapped his master's leg and mumbled, "Dob."

Riddle stopped and pulled away, an incredulous look on his face. "What was that James?"

"I asked you stop," Harry replied, gasping for air. "I couldn't breathe."

"Oh is that so? Little James would like me to stop? Your master is offering you a wonderful gift, James, and you're turning your nose up at it?"

"But I..."

"How dare you? Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? How many people would beg for my cock? Position two, James. Now."

Harry quickly leaned forward and clasped his wrists behind his back.

"Now you are going to learn what happens to ungrateful little sluts."

Harry closed his eyes, his body shaking as he braced himself for what was about to happen. There was a loud crack like the one he had heard earlier, and then the cat of nine tails connected with his ass, making him fall to his stomach in pain.

"Get back up," Riddle growled. Harry did as he was told and endured the two more whippings. With no clothes on, the pain was twenty times worse and he could feel welts starting to form on his red-hot flesh. "Now, have you learned your lesson?" Riddle asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, master. Please let me continue. It is such an honor to pleasure you. I was stupid for letting a silly thing like breathing get in the way. Please, I beg you, allow me to continue." Harry was shocked by his own words, but he didn't want to be whipped anymore, and oddly enough, he didn't want to let his master down. He wanted to please his master and show him how grateful he was for the magnificent gift, and the only way to do that was to endure the abuse.

"Are you sure about that, slut?" Riddle asked.

Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yes master, I am sure."

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**P.S.--Please review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...in case you guys didn't know that :)**

**Warning: GAY SEX...If you say 'Yay' to these words, stay a while. If not, leave :)**

**A/N: I am usually good at responding to every comment but it was very hard to do so this week. I had bake sales to cook for and boxes to pack because I am finally moving out of this hell-hole! Yay!!! But I really appreciate everyone's kind words about the first chapter, and I promise I will respond to any reviews I get this time around :) So please, let me know what you think!  
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Draco admired himself in the mirror. He wore tight, black, leather pants that hugged and showed off his taut thigh muscles, and simple black boots, but absolutely nothing else. It was his typical work attire, simple and sexy, though most of his clients never saw it anyway. He very rarely allowed them to remove their masks, because in doing so, he felt it made things more personal--something he didn't want. People say that a person's eyes are the window to their soul, so Draco preferred to keep the blinds shut and drapes closed. Or in his case, their masks on.

He didn't want to look at a client and see someones father or someones daughter. He didn't want to see school teachers or bankers or stay at home mothers. He preferred to think of his clients as depraved individuals that just need a safe way to burn off their sexual perversions, not people that are so down-and-out that they want to be punished for the shitty lives they lead. He'd rather think of them as sexual deviants, nothing more nothing less. After all, ignorance is bliss, and Draco felt that the less he knew about his clients, the better.

However, on rare occasions he did allow his clients to remove their masks. Sometimes it was simply because he was dying to see if his they were as good looking as he imagined, other times it was because something about the client intrigued him. Today though, it was a combination of both. His newest client, James Black, had been seeing him for a month now, stopping by the facility at least three or fours times a week. James was unlike any client Draco had ever had. He was desperate and obedient like the others, but he was also charming and confident, qualities Draco's clients always lacked. James also had an air of importance about him, a purpose; he wasn't a lost soul looking for meaning, he already knew who he was and what he wanted out of life. Draco admired this about his client, and if he was being totally honest with himself, the confidence was a major turn-on, as was James' magnificent physique. Not only was the man intellectually intriguing, he was also stunningly beautiful. He was long and lean, not overly muscular, but every inch of his body was hard and strong. Ripples of tight, lithe muscles begged to escape the confines of his pale skin and he moved with a fluidity and athleticism that left Draco curious about the man's prowess in the bedroom. But as it was, Draco had already done more with James than he had with any other client, more than he had ever intended on doing.

In Draco's line of work, legally speaking, there could be no sex involved whatsoever. Penetration, whether vaginal, anal, oral, or sexual stimulation involving hands, feet, toys, inanimate objects--anything at all--made what Draco did illegal. All of the strange, depraved things Draco did with clients were considered 'means of entertainment' until a sexual touch was involved. Then it was prostitution.

However, where Draco worked, and most likely at similar places, there was an unspoken understanding that some form of sex was bound to happen. After all, though some clients just enjoyed being dominated, a good ninety-percent of them actually got off on it, reveling in the sexual undertones of their sessions. So with that in mind, Mariella, Draco's boss, adopted a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy. If her employees chose to participate in sexually explicit activities with their clients, she was to know nothing about it. She even had them all sign paperwork saying that they understood their job was to provide entertainment only, and that anything of a sexual nature was not tolerated. That way, it they were ever the target of a sting operation and one of her employees got caught red-handed, she could say she denounced such behavior and had no idea that anything like that was happening in her facility. So it was up to the employees. If they wanted to run the risk of getting caught that was their choice, but no one should expect any sympathy or help from her if they got hauled off to jail.

And Draco, typically being a law-abiding citizen, heeded that warning for the first several months of his employ. He dominated his clients with a sort of 'hands-off' approach, keeping his distance and barely laying a hand on them. But after working there , on a couple of occasions, when he was turned on by a client and also comfortable with them, he allowed things to go further. On most of these occasions he would just allow his client to pleasure him or herself during their session, which was a big treat on it's own seeing as how Draco usually enjoyed watching his clients' suffer when they were turned on and weren't allowed to do anything about it. And sometimes, very rarely, Draco would bust out the biggest, most humiliating toy he could find and use it on his client while they masturbated. But that was it. Never, not once in all of his time working for Mariella, had he allowed a client to service _him_.

Yet for some reason, on his first night meeting James, a monster stirred in his gut, telling him to throw caution to the wind and give in to his most carnal desires. It told him to throw James over the steel operating table he kept in his room, and fuck the man blind until he screamed and plead for mercy. But Draco told himself that would be uncouth, unprofessional, so he compromised, opting to abuse James' throat instead of his ass. It didn't quite quell the monster, but it satisfied him for the time being.

And since that first session, Draco continued to toe the line of actual intercourse, by either making James service him orally or by penetrating every one of James' orifices with some toy or object. But as Draco made his way to work, he decided that today would be the day he would fuck James Black. He would unmask him and give in to his monster's desires, fucking the man every which way to Sunday.

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Draco watched the clock, willing the hands to move at a faster pace. It was 6:45 and his current client, a 30-something debutante from the city, was sprawled out on the steel table, her mask in place and a ball gag in her mouth. She laid still while Draco circled parts of her body he felt needed work. He made big black loops with the black, permanent marker, marking the pouches of flesh on her inner thighs; scribbling webs of ink on her slightly rounded lower stomach; and drawing a large 'X' over the landscaped hair on her pussy. "I expect my pets to be completely hairless," Draco barked. "This is unacceptable. You have disappointed your master Elaina. And this," he said squeezing the excess skin on her legs and stomach. "This disgusts me. Do you really expect me to look at this horrifying flab? Do you?"

Elaina shook her head furiously. "Good, pet. So you are going to work on this for our next session, right?" She nodded. Draco untied her restraints and helped her to a seated position. "Okay, you are free to go then. I want you to go home and look in the mirror...I want you to see the marks that I have made and I want you to figure out how to correct them. In fact, don't come back to me until you have done so." Elaina nodded again, hopped off the table and then crawled around the room blindly, searching for her discarded clothing. When she was dressed, Draco led her out into the hallway and slammed the door behind her.

He felt a little guilty for being so harsh to the woman, he wasn't cruel after all, but he knew it was what Elaina wanted. She might be upset at first, hurt that he had pointed out such minute imperfections on her nearly perfect body, but not only was she addicted to being dominated, she was also addicted to plastic surgery. His admonishments gave her reason to go out and get a little nip-tuck or an extra collagen injection. She enjoyed it and he knew it, and it was his ability to be in-tune with what people wanted that made Draco so good at his job. Just a few minutes with someone and he could tell what kind of submissive they would be, what they would like and what kind of dom they got off on.

Some people preferred to treated more like a slave, made to rub their master's feet or act as their master's footstool; others enjoyed being humiliated and treated like garbage; then there were some people that took submission to a whole other level. After just their first encounter, Draco pinpointed James as the latter. James seemed like the type of sub that was up for bondage, role-playing, even physical pain. From what Draco could tell, the man had no boundaries, and he planned on testing that theory at 7pm.

Draco quickly cleaned up and readied his room for James' arrival. He had just finished wiping down the steel table when the buzzer in his room sounded, signaling that he had a client waiting. Draco all but ran down to the holding room, slowing his steps and breathing when he reached it and stepped inside. Sure enough, James was there, his mask on, chained up to a metal pole in the middle of the room.

Draco silently walked over and unchained him, then led him down the hallway without uttering a word. "Pet," Draco barked when they reached the door to his room.

"Yes Master?"

"You know that your Master neither cares about, nor values your opinion, correct?"

"Yes Master."

"However, in this one instance I am going to ask you a question and I want you to, no, I command you to answer me honestly. Understood?"

"Yes Master."

"Do you enjoy pain, Pet?"

"I...yes, Master."

"Are you comfortable with blood as long as no real harm is done?"

James' breathing quickened and he licked his lips. "Yes, Master."

"Good, when you hear my door shut I would like you to stay out here and remove every article of clothing, as well as your mask. You are to leave them on the floor and then knock three times when you are ready to enter." Draco stepped into his room and shut the door behind him, not giving James time to respond, though he probably wouldn't anyway. More than likely he'd be a good boy and do as his Master told him, no questions asked.

Draco rushed around the room with the few spare moments he had primping himself, rubbing baby oil on his bare chest and slicking his hair back with a palm full of mousse. Then he put on his own mask, one of thin, black leather that covered most of his head. When he was ready he sat in the chair and waited, his heart racing and the monster in his stomach starting to stir.

After what felt like forever, there were three timid knocks on the door and Draco stood up and glided across the room, pulling the door open in a manner he hoped didn't reveal his excitement. But as soon as the door was open, all of the excitement he had been feeling drained out of his body and was replaced by shock and confusion. Standing in front of him, stark naked, was not some stranger named James Black; it was Harry Potter.

Draco nearly stumbled backward, but managed to compose himself. This was certainly the last thing he expected and he was just thankful he had had the foresight to put his mask on before opening the door.

"Well," Draco said. "Uh...Come in and have a seat on the table." He quickly busied himself, sifting through drawers and boxes in the room, anything to give his brain a moment to process the situation. _Harry Potter _was _James Black._ All this time Draco had actually been ordering Harry Potter to do things, not some faceless, unknown man. He had violated the Chosen One with nearly every object in the room, including his own dick, without ever having known. But how could he have? Who in a million years would have ever thought that the Gryffindor Golden Boy would be spending his Voldemort-free days lurking around bondage clubs and getting dildos shoved up his ass? It didn't make sense, so the thought had never even crossed Draco's mind.

But now that Harry was here in front of him, what was he supposed to do? Could Draco continue doing the things he had done when he thought Harry was James? The monster in his gut snarled with a resounding 'yes,' something that caught Draco off guard. His logical self said there was no way he could carry on knowing that his client was Harry Potter. There was too much history, too much animosity, and besides, he had always said that he would never work with someone that he knew.

But then again, the monster snarled, what was the harm? Harry was, though Draco hated to admit it, quite stunning, and he was also a very intriguing, very obedient sub. And truth be told, Draco thought this venture could turn out to be quite fun. Who better to vent his pent up anger on than the person that had once been the very source of his anger? It was a win-win situation really.

The monster nodded his head in agreement, and that was all of the encouragement Draco needed.

"James, lay down on your back with your arms over your head and you legs spread." Harry did as he was told and it took everything in Draco's power to not stare at the sizable erection protruding from the man's nether-regions. Draco grabbed handcuffs, shackles, and a thin length of black fabric from the counter, then walked over fastened Harry's left hand in the cuff, looped the chain through a bar in the table, and then cuffed his right hand. He repeated a similar process with Harry's feet, then tied the black cloth over his eyes.

"Har...James," Draco corrected himself. "Have you heard of sensory deprivation?"

"No Master."

"Good." Draco went back to the drawers and grabbed a primitive, muggle music player with oversized headphones better fit for an air traffic controller. He placed the headphones over Harry's ears and turned the player on, blaring the music of one of his favorite (and the loudest he could think of) muggle bands, Shadows Fall. He adjusted the music to what he felt was an appropriate level, then grabbed a ball gag, put the ball in Harry's mouth and tightened the straps around his head.

Draco watched as Harry's breath quickened, the rise and fall of his chest moving with the cadence of someone who had just ran a marathon. His cock twitched in anticipation and Draco found his own responding the same way. Everything was all set.

Draco grabbed the exacto knife from the counter and pushed the blade up, its shiny silver glinting in the florescent light. Now it was time for the real fun to begin.

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**A/N: Pretty please review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning/Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...blah blah blah...This story features lots of pervy stuff...blah blah blah. If you don't likey, don't read :-(**

**A/N: I bet ya'll never thought you'd hear from me again! And I know excuses are lame...but I do have a couple...I did not have internet for weeks and weeks! It was horrible! I tried to work on this at my mom's house, but let's just say writing porn is not easy when you have mothers and brothers popping over your shoulder every minute. They don't know what a perv I am and I didn't want to scare the poor people. Then since it had been so long I didn't think people would be interested anymore, so I kind of gave up. But I recently got a few more reviews as well as a few emails asking where the hell I disappeared to, so I figured 'what they hell--might as well finish these bad boys up.' So anyway, here is Chapter 3 of my dirty, dirty story :) Kind of short, but I hope you like it!  


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A smile tugged at Draco's lips as he watched Harry writhe around on the steel table. With the blade lying unused next to him, it was amusing how much of an affect he was having on Harry without even having touched the man yet. In his experience though, sensory deprivation could do that to a person. When your senses are compromised, your physical awareness heightens and your skin tingles in anticipation, just itching to be touched. Throw in the promise of some unknown pain, like Draco had, and it was enough to send a person propelling over the edge. And poor Harry was definitely at the brink.

He wriggled and bucked his hips in a pained manner, so Draco, being the gentleman that he was, decided he needn't drag out the poor boy's torture out any longer. He grabbed a long piece of nylon strap from one of the large, utility drawers and fastened it around Harry's waist, rendering him almost motionless, then reached again for his exacto knife and began absent-mindedly tracing designs with the back-edge of the blade. He drew circles and swirly shapes on Harry's chest and abdomen while he contemplated what kind of mark he wanted to leave on the Gryffindor Golden Boy. What could he carve into Harry's skin that would have meaning? The few times Draco had done this in the past, he had just carved generic shapes or symbols into the the person's flesh--an 'X', a star. One time he even carved his name, well his work name, into a client, writing 'Riddle' in elegant script across the man's chest. But for Harry, he'd have to do something different..something _special_.

He was moving the dull edge of the blade in zig-zags from one of Harry's hip-bones to the other, watching the beautiful brunette shudder with with pleasure, when the idea suddenly hit him. It was perfect. The design would serve a dual purpose, acting as a symbol of Harry himself, while hopefully, also scaring the hell out of him at the same time. When Harry left the office and looked at the design in the mirror, it would hit him like a slap across the face. He would know that he was dealing with someone from the wizarding world, someone that knew who he was. Draco could imagine the horror on his face as Harry wondered who the man behind the mask was, as he worried about how long it would take for the Daily Prophet to catch a whiff of his extra-curricular activities. The idea of Harry squirming pleased Draco to no end, but there was just one slight problem. As soon as Harry realized it was a wizard that he had been seeing for the last several weeks, he would no doubt terminate his sessions immediately. That meant no more visits from 'James Black.'

At the end of the day though, Draco had to remind himself that no matter how much fun Harry had been, he was just a client--nothing more, nothing less. If he never came back, there would be plenty of willing, wanton whores ready to take his place. And besides, Harry would be the one missing out, not Draco. The type of pleasure Draco doled out was unparalleled, and if the Chosen One could live without ever feeling such ecstasy again, that was his problem.

But Draco knew one thing for sure, if this was the last time was going to see Harry, he was going to make it as memorable as possible.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry's heart pumped violently, thudding an erratic rhythm against his rib cage. It killed him to not know what was going on, to not know when Riddle would deliver the pain he so deliciously promised. The only thing he knew was that for a good five, torturous minutes, Riddle had stimulated his every nerve-ending with the slightest of touches, and that suddenly those touches had stopped, leaving his body tingling and pulsing with desire. Had Riddle left the room? What was he doing? Was he preparing to do something more intrusive, something that would drive Harry over the edge? Poor Harry had no idea and he thought for sure that the agonizing anticipation was enough to break him. If his mouth were free he would beg to touched. If his eyes were uncovered he would plead wordlessly to his master for some sort of release. And if his hands were free he would take matters into his own hands and accept whatever punishment his master doled out.

But unfortunately he could barely move a muscle, so instead he wriggled his fingers and toes vigorously, hoping the small act would signal his master that if he didn't get touched soon, he would explode. However, instead of the being rewarded with the same gentle touches Riddle had bestowed upon him earlier, a rush of wind swept through the air and a sharp pain shot through Harry's chest as a cat-o-nine tails made contact with his hypersensitive skin. A guttural scream escaped his throat but was muffled into strangled howls by the unforgiving ball gag. Harry's skin burned and throbbed and his muscles tensed just as the second blow lashed across his stomach.

Lights popped behind Harry's eyes and for a moment he thought he might pass out from sheer pain.

"I do not tolerate impatience," Riddle growled as he pulled the headset away from Harry's ear. "You best never get greedy with me again."

As the headphone snapped back in to place, Harry could never imagine wanting to 'get greedy' again with the torment that was wracking his body. Sure he had told Riddle he was up for anything, but really he didn't want to look like a wuss in front of his Master. He didn't want to be considered unworthy.

But then, as the initial agony wore off and his light-headedness cleared, Harry slowly but surely became enthralled by it all. The way the pain resonated throughout his entire being and the way heat radiated from his raw, beaten flesh was so lecherous, so erotic, that he wanted to be whipped again and again and again until every inch of his body had been abraded by the whip's leathery tendrils.

He strained against the confines of his binds, hoping his behavior and impatience would warrant him another 'punishment'. He wanted Riddle to hit him with as much force as possible. He wanted the blinding pain again, pain that would render him unconscious if he didn't enjoy it so much. But to Harry's disappointment, the biting nip of leather never returned.

He continued to struggle against the tight constraints, not caring when the metal handcuffs dug into his flesh or when a sharp edge on the table scraped his back. But after several minutes of wriggling with all of his might, he accomplished nothing. Harry pictured Riddle sitting on a stool in the corner, yawning or twiddling his thumbs while he laughed at the pathetic sight in front of him. Maybe he was idly flipping through a magazine or practicing his golf swing or perhaps he had just left the room altogether--Harry wasn't sure. He was just about ready to give up on Riddle when he felt pressure on his lower abdomen near the peak of his left hip.

At first Harry likened the sensation to someone drawing on him with pen, but then after a moment, when the pressure disappeared, the area started to sting and a stream of warm liquid trickled from his protruding hip bone, down the slope until it pooled just above his groin. Harry's nerves stood at attention and he could feel the static building in the air around him as his body began quivering with excitement. His head reeled and he tried his hardest to wrap his head around what was happening. Without his vision, he couldn't know for sure, but judging by what he had felt, Harry was fairly certain that Riddle had just cut him. And oddly enough, it really hadn't hurt...and he really liked it.

He couldn't believe it. The burning had faded to a dull throb and Harry found that his rock-hard cock had begun pulsing to the same, steady rhythm. It felt amazing and wonderful and the fact that he was enjoying the sensation so much proved something he had always speculated to be true; he was a full-blown, whip-taking, pain-loving masochist.

After a moment, the blood on Harry's stomach began to dry and the heady arousal he had been experiencing began to subside. He yearned to be touched again--whipped, cut, fucked--anything. Then suddenly the same pressure returned, this time on his right hip, and all of the wonderful feelings began rushing through him again, coursing through his veins like mainlined ecstasy. His head lolled to the side and his muscles clenched. It took everything in his power to not cum right then and there, all over the table and his bloodied body.

"You like that Potter," Riddle growled as he pulled the earphones away and then snapped them back into place. Harry nodded his head fervently, not even registering that his master just called him Potter.

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Draco quickly backed away from the table, chastising himself for such a stupid slip-up. He never made mistakes. He was always very careful, calculating every move he made and every word he spoke. But seeing Harry writhe around with his cock twitching like crazy had gotten to Draco. He lost control for just a moment and now he was sure that Harry would be choking out the safe word any second. But as the moments passed, the likelihood of 'magic' escaping Harry's gagged mouth lessened, and Draco couldn't believe his luck. Maybe he hadn't been paying attention. Maybe he too was so enraptured by the pure eroticism of the situation that he wasn't completely cognizant of everything around him. At least...that's what Draco hoped.

So trying to push the mishap out of his mind, Draco moved to more pressing issues, like the painful erection he had been suffering with for a half an hour. He knew it was unprofessional and frowned-upon and risky, but he needed to take care of it--and fast--before he was left with an incurable case of blue balls.

He walked over to Harry, making quick work of the straps, handcuffs and gag and quickly threw them to the side. Then he removed the headphones and yanked Harry's legs, sliding him to the end of the table.

"Master...I..."

"Did I say you could talk bitch?" Draco growled as he pulled off his pants and grabbed a bottle of lube. "Now don't move. Understand?"

Harry nodded.

Draco quickly squirted a dollop of lube on Harry's ass and without warning, impaled him with nine inches of rock-hard dick. Harry cried out, his moans echoing off the stone walls. But Draco paid no mind and began thrusting, driving every bit of him into Harry over and over again. The room began to spin and Draco realized he was more turned on than he had been in a long time. It was mildly disconcerting, but in his current position he couldn't waste time analyzing things. He just needed to get his rocks off and would worry about the psychoanalysis later.

Draco picked up his pace, driving all thoughts out of his mind and slamming into Harry so hard and so fast he imagined the man crumbling like chunks of asphalt beneath a jackhammer. He wanted to break Harry, use him so thoroughly there would be no coming back from it. So he continued to pound and thrust, his head swirling, his mind blank except for the rhythmic sound of his balls slapping against tender flesh.

"Oh God!" Harry screamed, pulling Draco out of his trance. "Oh, Oh, Ohhh!!!" Draco looked down just in time to see several sprays of sticky cum erupt from Harry's dick and land on his chest and stomach. And before Draco realized what was happening, he too began to cum. He gripped Harry's waist as he emptied every last bit of seed, his hands and body sticky with cum when he finally finished and nearly collapsed with exhaustion.

_Well,_ he thought to himself as grabbed a towel and began cleaning his body off, _If this is the last time I see Harry, at least I know I made the best of it._

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**A/N: So even though I have been a bad little writer, it would make my day if you reviewed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and make no money from these fun little ventures. Though wouldn't it be fun for getting paid for just simply being a perv :)**

**Author's Note: I know-I suck. I started this fun little ditty and have done jack-squat with it for like 5 months. To be honest, I have been busy stressing out about personal crap and super drama-prone friends. No excuse, I know! But with all the fun trailers for DH, I have been inspired to finish. And I swear to you, you will not have to wait long for the rest of it. It's all planned out and partially written already. **

**So I hope you enjoy this somewhat short, teaser chapter. And btw, reviews make me want to write more :)**

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Harry blindly put on the clothes Riddle had retrieved for him, the length of dark fabric still tied snugly around his eyes. He had been ordered to dress immediately and was told he was only allowed to remove the blindfold once every stitch of clothing was back on his raw, beaten body. Harry wasn't sure why Riddle had made such an odd demand, but he didn't question it. He didn't want to upset his Master after all of the pleasure that had just been bestowed upon him.

So Harry continued to dress, wincing when the rough waistband of his paints rubbed up against the fresh cuts. And once he had all of his clothes back on, he removed the blindfold, took a quick look around the imposing, but empty room, and left.

When he arrived back at his house, it was nearly 10pm and Harry was absolutely exhausted. Between the torture his body had been through and the roller coaster of emotions he had experienced, he felt absolutely drained. So much so, he decided to forgo dinner, something his stomach rarely allowed him do, and he hefted his tired body straight towards bed.

Before climbing in, he very gently, very deliberately removed his shirt and then began working on removing his pants, peeling them away from his skin slowly as to not reopen the wounds that decorated his waist. But to his surprise they must have reopened on his way home, and his face contorted in pain as the fabric stuck to his bloodied hips. Cursing, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it; the fact he was whining about such inconsequential pain when just moments before he was being cut and beaten and was enjoying every minute of it-it was ridiculous.

Harry shook his head and carried on with the task at hand, eventually pooling his clothes in one big pile at the foot of bed. He was just about to throw on some flannel pajama pants when he walked past the mirror and caught a quick glance of his reflection. Bloody red smudges stood against his pale flesh like brightly lit beacons. He could have just magicked them away, wiping away all traces of damage with one swipe of his wand, but he didn't want to. He enjoyed the idea of bearing his Master's mark, of having a symbol of his Master branded into his skin as a constant reminder of who he belonged to and of what he was-a pet.

But if he was going to wear the marks like eternal badges of honor, he figured he should at least get a glimpse of what they looked like. So he stepped forward, his heart thumping as he crept closer to the mirror. What was it? Maybe some symbol his Master had taken as his own, something he marked all of his pets with? Harry half expected a giant 'Z' to be slashed into his flesh, trading one mysterious masked man's signature for another. Or maybe a big letter 'R' for that matter. Maybe Riddle came riding in on Tornado, saved the day and then he too marked his territory with the swish of his sabre.

But as Harry stood inches away from the mirror he realized none of those guesses were correct. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and ice water pushed through his body, seizing his veins as he took in the jagged lines drawn across his pale flesh. On each hip was a perfectly carved lightning bolt

Harry's breath began to hitch and the room slowly started to spin around him. He hadn't had a panic attack in ages, but he felt himself teetering on the edge of that nefarious abyss. Just one wrong move, one tiny little thing to trigger, and he'd topple into that dark and endless pit, falling through blackened nothing until he was able to pull free. Sometimes it only took seconds, sometimes hours, but he couldn't take his chances.

Harry sat down on the floor with his back to the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. Scrunching his eyes tightly shut, he breathed slowly in and out as he whispered supposed miracle mantras that his shrink recommended at one of his $300 an hour sessions.

"I am the master of my emotions," he said quietly. "I am in control of what I feel and how I feel it. Nothing can hurt me unless I let it." Harry struggled to control his erratic breathing. "I am the master of my emotions." The words spilled out in forced gusts. "I am in control ofwhatIfeelandhowIfeelit..NothingcanhurttmeunlessIletit...Aaaagggghh," he screamed in frustration as he punched the floor below him.

Pain shot up through his knuckles and hand and scorched to his wrist, adding to his ever increasing laundry list of throbbing body parts. But something about the added pain pulled Harry out of his near panic attack and helped dissipate the chaos that had been suffocating his brain. He stood up and began pacing his small apartment, allowing a few moments to calm down and for his breathing to return to normal.

When he finally felt like himself again, Harry began to think. So many questions sailed through his mind he barely had time to ponder them before the next query came to the forefront. _Who was this masked man? Was it someone he knew personally? Did he intend to harm Harry? _His stomach sank as his brain posed the next questions. _Were there still Death Eaters roaming the world undetected? Was this 'Master Riddle' a Death Eater. The name certainly pointed to that..._

"No, it's impossible," he grumbled to himself. But the uttered reassurance couldn't assuage the feeling that something was definitely off. This was no coincidence; Harry was sure of it. Whoever Riddle was, he did this with the intent of alarming Harry, scaring him off perhaps. Riddle wanted to make Harry squirm. And Harry promised himself he would Riddle antics to do no such thing. Until he had proof to the contrary, he was going to look at this a mere prank, something meant to startle him and nothing more.

And the more Harry thought about it, the more auspicious this theory became. If this person truly did mean him harm, would they really have let Harry go with nothing more than a couple of cuts and a sore ass? And on so many occasions? _No, definitely not_, he thought. Riddle had plenty of chances to finish him off while he was bound, naked and without the protection of his wand, and instead of yelling out _Avada Kedavra, _Riddle had only done things that Harry had wanted him to do. He had all but pleaded for the pain and torture that Riddle had bestowed upon him. He had _enjoyed_ it. And as far as he could tell, this Riddle bloke had been enjoying himself too. Certainly someone that sought to harm Harry would not be so passionate and so intimate with him. But that still begged the question: Who was Riddle?

Harry had a couple of options; he could ignore the nagging questions in the back of his brain, pretend this never happened, and avoid that seedy street in London for the rest of his life, or, he could confront his curiosity, as well as his mind-fucking assailant, head on.

Harry deliberated for what was only a matter of seconds before crossing the room and grabbing his phone.

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Draco lounged carelessly in his room at work, bored to the point that he was actually watching Muggle television. But although his eyes were glued to the flat panel in front of him, his brain was far away from the teenaged vampires and saccharin story lines polluting his screen. How could Muggles even tolerate such diluted nonsense? Instead his mind was busy contemplating one Mr. Harry Potter. He kept thinking of their last and final encounter, and the mere image of Draco plowing into the Gryffindor Golden Boy was enough to cause the monster in his gut to stir. No matter how much he told himself it was a good thing that he was shot of Potter, some nudging in the back of his head told him he shouldn't have scared the man off. He should have enjoyed their time together a little longer-dragged out the intriguing game of cat and mouse for just a few more weeks.

The monster nodded its head and Draco could feel his cock start to harden as a reel of Harry crying out in pleasure played before his eyes. _Yes, I should have waited_, he thought. But his inner Slytherin, the inner 11 year old boy that still held a grudge against the great Harry Potter had won out and now he was left with unanswered questions and feelings of regret. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Draco had enjoyed his time dominating Potter. He enjoyed watching the looks on Harry's face, the way his hips bucked when the pleasure and need was too overwhelming, the way sweat beaded on his muscled stomach when the anticipation was driving him over the edge. Knowing that he would never see these things again left Draco feeling somewhat...empty. His brain longingly thought of all of the missed opportunities now that he had scared Harry off-the depraved things he could have done to Potter, the intense pleasure it would have brought him. The loss of such possibilities hit him like a Stunning Spell to the chest.

But he would move on. Malfoys were the consonant survivors and he certainly wasn't going to let something like another chance to get his dick wet drag him down.

"Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzz."

The sound of the alarm broke through Draco's reverie and he hopped out of his chair somewhat dazed and confused. He looked up at the clock and saw that the time read 7:00pm-a whole hour before his next scheduled client. Normally his nights were booked solid, but his 7 o'clock appointment with Elaina had been canceled just hours before. He had chalked it up to Botox gone bad or a scheduling conflict with some lipo, not giving her cancellation a second thought. But perhaps she had decided to come after all. Perhaps whatever reason she had to cancel was decidedly not enough to keep her away from Draco's firm hand and sharp tongue.

So he quickly bustled around his quarters with his wand, magickly straightening things up and turning off the television before stowing his wand and heading down the hall to his waiting pet. But when he reached the holding chamber, he could not believe his eyes. Chained up in the middle room was not the horny debutante he anticipated; it was Harry Potter.

For what had to be the first time in his life, words failed Draco. His tongue stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth as he stared at the very person he had conceded to never seeing again. He was shocked and confused and, angrily, a little excited. The monster in his gut growled a long, hungry snarl. But being the ever-professional, Draco ignored it and tried to get a hold of himself. He took a few deep breaths and steadied his voice.

"Hello Pet," he said as nonchalantly as possible. "I see you must have enjoyed the punishment your Master doled out."

"Yes Master," Harry breathed. "I think I need to be punished again."

"Well," Draco said as he fastened the leash around Harry's neck and dragged him down the hallway. "We will see if you deserve it."

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Excitement boiled up in Harry as he followed Riddle to his chambers. In just a few short moments he would know who this masked man was and what exactly he wanted, whether it be good or bad.

As quietly and undetectably as he could, he slid a free hand into his wand pocket, readying himself for what was to come.

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**P.S-So I know I have been a terrible little writer, but reviews would just make my freaking day! Think of it as an early birthday (7/10) present :)**


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